


Joy has he whom she embraces

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Amelia Peabody - Elizabeth Peters
Genre: Coda, F/M, First Time, Missing Scene, POV First Person, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28116954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: Editor's note: These previously redacted sections of Mrs. Emerson's journals have been published not for the purpose of prurient gossip, but to provide a fuller picture of the early days of the Emersons' partnership.A coda toThe Crocodile on the Sandbank.
Relationships: Amelia Peabody Emerson/Radcliffe Emerson
Comments: 32
Kudos: 61
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Joy has he whom she embraces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexElizabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexElizabeth/gifts).



> Title from "Sister Without Peer," translated by Miriam Lichtheim. Many thanks to my darling beta.

Immediately upon our engagement (or thereabouts; Emerson and I spent the evening congenially in each other's company, so to be exact, it was the morning after our engagement commenced—never let it be said I am not accurate in my accounting), Emerson sought out Reis Hassan and demanded that he marry us. Reis Hassan proved to be braver than previously demonstrated, as he declined the honor vehemently, or so Emerson told me later that day, amid kisses and curses. Given that Reis Hassan and I shared almost no language, let alone religion, in common, it was just as well he had refused. (And here in the privacy of these pages, I will admit that I agreed with Emerson's desire for haste, though of course I argued against it at the time for the aforementioned reasons.)

Emerson's next plan was no better: he suggested docking at the next available landing and absconding with me to the nearest magistrate to marry us posthaste. The previous evening, I had succumbed only partially to Emerson's blandishments—having waited this long for the experience, I surprised myself by wishing to wait until we were properly wed to fully consummate our relationship. It was, perhaps, a sign that I didn't know yet what I was missing, for Emerson was even more impatient than usual and I had quite a time distracting him until we were finally wed. Evelyn's admission that the whole thing was _splendid_ tempted me, especially with the thrill of Emerson's fervent kisses so fresh in my memory, but I was resolute; once the decision had been taken, I was not going to change my mind and be accused, if only in my own mind, of being a flibbertigibbet.

When Emerson first broached the subject at the breakfast table on the _Philae_ on the second day of our engagement, neither Evelyn nor Walter appeared shocked. But they both shook their heads.

"It will be scandal enough when Grandfather's will is discovered and Lucas's perfidy is revealed," Evelyn said. "We shouldn't add fuel to the fire by arriving in Cairo having been married in the most harum-scarum fashion." She and Walter exchanged glances over their teacups. "It will be bad enough to have both of you painted as fortune hunters. I shouldn't think you'd want to stir that up until absolutely necessary."

Emerson grunted unhappily but acquiesced at Evelyn's show of good sense. It didn't stop him from demanding that I request the location of a vicar from the concierge at Shepheard's when we arrived in Cairo, but this time, I was the one who put paid to that notion. 

When I explained to Emerson that we would not be getting married in Cairo because Evelyn wished to shop for a trousseau, he exclaimed, "Good Gad, Peabody! Shopping? You could come to me in your shift!" And then he stopped, as if arrested by the notion.

"I know that," I responded, after we spent a few moments enacting what would happen if I did follow that careless suggestion, and I was most pleased by his assurances, "but Evelyn has her heart set on it, and I find I am not averse."

"Well," Emerson grumbled, "I suppose if it keeps you out of trouble…."

I smiled brightly at this capitulation.

I didn't care so much myself for the purchase of trousseau, but I knew Evelyn would want me to have one—she had already spoken excitedly of the shopping trips we would take together to buy items for this purpose, and I couldn't bear to disappoint her. I had, perhaps, understated my own desire for prettily embroidered night clothes now that I knew I should be wearing them in the presence of another person, though I knew even then that Emerson cared not a jot for fine lawn embroidered with peonies or whatever it was that was in fashion this season. I aimed to own some fine linen shifts that would make me feel, in the fevered privacy of my own imaginings at least, like Nefertiti, whose name means "the beautiful woman has come." 

Evelyn and I agreed that every woman should feel a queen on her wedding night. The best guarantee of such a sensation, of course, is to choose men who would make us feel that way, but a little mise en scène never hurt.

My other main goal on the fashion front was to find a wedding dress that did not require a corset, as my favorite crimson gown was not appropriate for the occasion, and I didn't like any of the others near enough to be married in them. I rarely indulge in sentiment, but I daresay even the plainest bride wishes to look beautiful on her wedding day.

One can find almost anything in the souq in Cairo, and I did in fact find a set of finely crafted daggers that were old enough to be considered antiques but not ancient enough to set Emerson off about their provenance. They would make a lovely wedding gift for him, I thought, though of course I had no wish for him to ever actually use them. (How little did I know, in those days before our wedding, how many criminals would entangle themselves in our work.) But as I was saying, while the souq is a marvel of consumer delight, one cannot get fine English tailoring, nor the most up-to-date Parisian fashion, there. One can find surprisingly well-crafted facsimiles, and in the normal course of events, that would have been fine for me, but for this once-in-a-lifetime occasion, I wanted Evelyn to have the best of whatever she wanted. We were becoming sisters, after all.

Evelyn glowed with the knowledge of being in love and knowing she was loved in return, and everywhere she went, we were greeted with enthusiasm (and not just because of the baksheesh we distributed and the goods we purchased). She bought a small gift for our former dragoman, Michael, to thank him for his faithful service, and an assortment of larger gifts for Walter, which he accepted with the baffled good nature of a man who understands how lucky he is and isn't quite sure how it happened. Walter is a dear fellow, and naturally endowed with all the polish and address Emerson can't be bothered to practice, even when it would remove obstacles more quickly than his typical shouting. (Emerson is lucky he has me to arrange things just so.)

Of the wearisome details of our return journey to England, I shall say little. We had rough weather, and though none of us is a bad sailor, it was not conducive to romance. This was all for the best, as my resolve had begun to weaken once I contemplated the length of time it would be until Emerson and I were married. I do not think Evelyn and Walter indulged, either, and though it is not my wont to speculate about the private lives of my dearest friends, I could not entirely banish the memory of Evelyn's enthusiastic words and looks from my mind.

Rather than traveling directly to Chalfont Castle, where both of our weddings would actually occur, and which would be Evelyn and Walter's home once they were wed, we took suites at the Langham Hotel in London. It was a gilded, glorious place, far more luxurious than our tombs in Amarna had been, though lacking in the stunning desert vistas with which I had become so enamored. 

"It's easier to do all our shopping and planning from here," Evelyn said, as we sat down to tea in the sitting room of our suite, and since she so rarely demanded anything of us, even Emerson acquiesced without demur. In fact, his sapphirine eyes took on a glint that was fast becoming familiar, and then he excused himself from the conversation. I believe he sat rather closer to me on that occasion than was strictly proper. Certainly, I recall being somewhat distracted by the curl of his large hands as he carefully cupped a delicate teacup and saucer before leaving so abruptly. 

He later confided in me that after some ratiocination on the topic, he also was not averse to the idea of my having a trousseau. 

For a fortnight, the dressmakers and milliners of London were kept busy (and paid exceedingly well for the rush), Emerson made his presence in London known to a variety of scholars who were also in town, and spent his time fighting with them via post (and occasionally in person, though thankfully he refrained from fisticuffs—I did not wish to marry him whilst he sported a black eye like a ruffian), and I argued vehemently with any number of seamstresses about having a natural-form wedding gown. Given the fact that Evelyn was a wealthy heiress and I was not without funds of my own, I prevailed, of course, but it was ridiculous that something so simple required so much debate so frequently.

The gowns we tried on were beautiful, luxurious things made of the finest silks, satins, and lace, and I enjoyed the feel of such sumptuous materials against my skin. (If I thought about how they would feel sliding from my body as Emerson undressed me, it is only to be expected of a bride-to-be, especially one as physically compatible with her betrothed as I was with Emerson.) I wanted to enjoy them without the constraints of a corset, which restricted breathing and movement, and made me feel as though I had been enclosed in a cage. While there are those who speak of marriage as such a cage, for me it symbolized freedom, and I wanted my clothing—my very wedding gown—to reflect that. 

I returned to the Langham one afternoon after a fitting, during which another such argument ensued, even though the gown was already in the process of being made, and found Emerson in the sitting room, glass of whiskey in hand.

"Give me that," I said in greeting, plucking the glass from his fingers and taking a long sip. I then had to fight the urge to cough and splutter, which I managed quite valiantly, even as Emerson watched me with the most annoyingly smug and knowing expression on his face.

"By Gad, Peabody, can't a man enjoy an afternoon refreshment without having it snatched away without warning?"

"I was in need of some sustenance." I offered him the glass. "You may have it back now." 

He grunted and waved a dismissive hand. "Keep it. I will pour myself another. What's got you all in a lather?"

"Corsets."

Emerson choked on his sip of whiskey, which only served him right. "Corsets?" he asked hoarsely.

"I wish not to wear one with my wedding gown, but every time I go for a fitting—" I could tell he was paying no attention to my litany of complaints so I stopped speaking. His gaze moved slowly over my body and when it finally caught mine, it was smoldering. I put down my glass so as not to spill its contents when he took me in his arms and kissed me.

We passed quite an engaging hour that way, until it was time to change for dinner. When we finally parted and I regained my senses, I hoped that his late afternoon stubble—which I found quite arousing—hadn't left any marks on my face or neck.

"Peabody," he said as he stood in the doorway before heading to his and Walter's suite of rooms.

"Yes?" 

"You will be magnificent whether you wear a corset or not."

"Of course I shall," I replied briskly, but I couldn't help the smile that curved my lips as I watched him retreat. Emerson was not an effusive man, and his compliments were always genuine. Though I am not in the least sentimental, I held them all close to my heart.

There was no romance in our journey from London to Chalfont Castle. Ours was a prosaic assembly of horses and carriages and drivers who spoke with broad Cockney accents—hired by Emerson of course.

"They know the roads and they know the horses, Peabody. Why should I let an employment agency choose the men who will be driving my precious cargo over poorly paved roads when I can choose them myself?"

"Your precious cargo?" 

"My manuscripts and tools, of course." A roguish grin accompanied this pronouncement and I found myself grinning in response.

"Of course."

Chalfont Castle was indeed an old pile, originally built in the fourteenth century—Evelyn assured us that the drafts had mostly been sealed up in the last decade. It was at sixes and sevens when we arrived, with sheets still being removed from furniture and windows being flung open to air the place out. The servants lined up to greet their new mistress, and there was some weeping and hugging at her triumphant return, and some approving whispers at Walter's solicitousness.

Emerson had no patience for these touching reunions, and shouted, "What the devil is all this palaver about? Let's get the carriages unloaded. There's work to be done!"

Even though he was not the master of the house, the servants scrambled to obey, and soon we were sitting in the parlor having a congenial afternoon beverage before dinner. Walter was explaining how he planned to take Evelyn to Paris for their honeymoon, and Evelyn was talking about how excited she was to be taking her sketchpad to the Louvre.

"That sounds lovely," I said. "I'm so glad you were easily able to find accommodation and berths on a ship to Calais on such short notice."

Evelyn looked at me shrewdly. "You still haven't said where you and Mr. Emerson are going."

"Cairo!" Emerson bellowed before I had a chance to respond. "Peabody wants to see some more dashed pyramids and then we will return to Amarna to finish my work there. Walter, you and Evelyn should join us when you're done flitting about Paris."

He said Paris the way another might have said, "the gutter," even though I knew he was quite fond of the City of Lights. I myself had considered suggesting Greece, or even Constantinople, as a honeymoon destination—on our way back to Egypt, of course—but the lure of pyramids was too tempting. There was so much of the country I had yet to see, and Emerson was eager to show it to me, as long as we visited the regions that had tombs or temples, or both, for preference.

Later that evening, Evelyn stopped at my door on her way to her own room and said, "Amelia, are you truly fine with returning to Egypt so soon?"

I laid a hand on her arm and gave it a light, comforting squeeze. "My dear Evelyn, I want nothing more than to see the pyramids again, with Emerson by my side."

"Then I hope you have a wonderful time, free of my nefarious relations and any other villains."

I wouldn't have minded tangling with more criminals—I had quite a knack for detection and enjoyed exercising it—but I knew that wasn't what she wanted to hear. "I'm sure we shall."

She pressed a kiss to my cheek and then beamed at me. "Get some rest tonight, Amelia. You are getting married tomorrow!"

"I must admit, I cannot wait."

I did not suffer from bridal nerves. I knew that I wanted to join my life to Emerson's and be at his side always, and I knew he felt the same. I did spend those moments before I drifted off to sleep that night in anticipation of finally experiencing in full the marriage act.

Evelyn and I had decided that Emerson and I would marry first, quietly, as Emerson was not particularly interested in the pomp and circumstance of a big wedding, and I had no desire to invite my brothers, though we sent them each an announcement afterward. Then Evelyn and Walter could marry with the entire village and all of Evelyn's law-abiding relatives in attendance the next day.

The morning of my wedding dawned clear and warm. The servants had decorated the chapel with sprays of white flowers and with the sun shining through the stained glass windows, it glowed with an otherworldly light, as if the Almighty Himself were blessing our union.

I kept such thoughts to myself—the vicar would have offered some anodyne platitude and Emerson would have scoffed loudly. But even had I harbored any doubts about the whirlwind nature of our romance (and I did not), that sense of conviction would have banished them.

Evelyn walked up the aisle ahead of me, a bouquet of pink roses in her hands, and Walter could not tear his gaze away from her, much as I was caught by the brilliant focus of Emerson's sapphirine eyes. I am not fanciful by nature, but I felt as if I floated down the aisle to him. I was glad I had fought to wear a gown that did not require being laced into a corset, because I could hardly breathe at the sight of Emerson in his formal clothes, the dark wool of his morning coat fitting perfectly across his broad shoulders, and his dark hair tumbling over his brow like the hero of a romance.

I do not remember much of the wedding itself. We gazed into each other's eyes and spoke our vows with great conviction, our two souls becoming one. We walked out of the chapel arm-in-arm with the bells ringing joyfully, and the servants and village children pelted us with rice.

The luncheon was delicious, and the champagne flowed freely. Emerson and Walter toasted each other, and then toasted their respective brides, and much merriment was made. While I don't normally care much for sweets, the cook had baked a lovely three-tiered cake and decorated it lavishly with marzipan and icing. 

"So your marriage will be sweet," Walter said as Emerson and I fed each other bites of cake.

Emerson and I forbore to mock him for this bit of mawkish sentimentality—he meant well, and we appreciated that. Indeed, Emerson's cheeks flushed as if there were some innuendo to the remark I was missing, and I felt as fizzy as the Perrier-Jouët which we had been imbibing so gleefully.

And then it was time to retire to the suite of rooms where we would consummate our marriage.

Evelyn's maid was waiting in the bedroom when we arrived upstairs, but Emerson sent her on her way with a devilish grin. "I shall play lady's maid for Mrs. Emerson, Sally. Run along now."

Once Sally was gone, Emerson closed the door and locked it. Then he turned to me with an intent look on his face. "Now, wife, let me look at you."

My heart thrilled at hearing myself referred to as Emerson's wife, but with Evelyn's help I had chosen a rather risqué negligee to wear on my wedding night and I wanted to don it. Then all thoughts of my nightclothes were driven out of my mind when Emerson kissed me—deeply, lovingly, _hungrily_. My whole body vibrated at his touch, and I wanted—and could finally have—more.

I was not ready when Emerson pulled away and turned me around so he could press hot kisses to the nape of my neck as he pulled the pins from my hair and tossed them to the carpet. (Needless to say, at that juncture, I didn't care a jot about having to collect them all later, before one of us—most likely Emerson—stepped on them.)

"Magnificent," he breathed, running his hands through it with hardly a snag.

"Emerson—"

"Hush, Peabody. Let me work." Those same hands that were so steady when digging us out of a rockfall or handling ancient artifacts trembled slightly as he unbuttoned my gown. The heat of his fingers seared my skin through the thin silk of my finely embroidered combinations, and I drew in a shuddering breath. He pushed the gown off my shoulders and it slid to the carpet, pooling around my ankles. Then he turned me to face him again. "You are lovely, my dear." He ran his hands over my shoulders, the bare skin of my arms prickling at the touch, then skimmed my clavicle with the tips of his fingers before dipping lower to cup my breasts.

"Emerson," I said again, but this time it was an entreaty to continue. Soon my combinations were also discarded, and my stockings followed—Emerson knelt before me and gently rolled each one down my leg, following the silk with the warm heat of his lips, setting my whole body aflame. He removed my kid slippers from my feet and pressed light kisses to the insteps, which should not have been as arousing as it was. I stood before him clad only in the skin within which I was born. He pressed a kiss to my belly that made my entire being melt before he rose to his feet and embraced me again. The wool of his morning coat was rough against my breasts and the sensation was surprisingly stimulating. But no, I thought hazily, something wasn't right. "Emerson, why are you still wearing your coat?"

"As usual, Peabody, you make a good point." 

I might have made a small sound of distress when he released me from his embrace in order to summarily strip out of his jacket and waistcoat. In his hurry to disrobe, the studs from his shirt went flying, and his ascot and collar followed. His very fine linen shirt was tossed away as well (it was found under the settee the next morning, along with my stockings). The well-muscled chest I had gotten such tantalizing glimpses of in Amarna was now fully bared to me for my delectation. I ran my fingers through the springy dark hair that covered his warm skin, and enjoyed the way his muscles jumped at my touch.

I hesitated only a moment before setting my hands to the waistband of his trousers so I could work at the buttons there. Emerson let out a growl and I paused, a rare moment of uncertainty overtaking me. 

"You're fine," he assured me, and dropped a quick kiss on my nose. "These buttons are a bloody nuisance. Here, let me." He eased my hands out of his way so he could rip open his trousers and shove them off. 

Emerson in the altogether was indeed an overwhelming sight—the long muscles of his thighs, the narrowness of his waist in comparison to his shoulders, his oddly knobby knees. And all of it was mine. I intended to conduct an extremely thorough exploration.

He easily hefted me in his arms and carried me to our nuptial bed, where we truly became one (surprisingly flexible) flesh, and our souls sang out together in marital bliss. Emerson moved over me, the heat and feel and smell of him surrounding me, and I opened to him like a flower to the sun. We surged together, two halves joined to form one perfect whole, and learned to please each other in that sacred, private place. 

I will leave the details to the imagination. Some things should remain between a woman and her husband. I will say, though, that as I rested breathless and fulfilled against the pillows—Emerson's bare chest was the best of pillows—afterwards, I couldn't help but murmur, "Splendid, indeed!" before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.


End file.
